


By All Means

by AkaiShinda (Ayleid)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Lovesickness, M/M, Platonic Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayleid/pseuds/AkaiShinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1977. England's narration about the last day of a conference, the following week and the 200th anniversary of America's independence. The Briton's sickness intensifies along with his longing and he becomes too detached from the real world to actually see what is waiting for his reply. //Translated and corrected work from the very first fanfic I wrote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Again

**Author's Note:**

> My very. Very first, USUK fan fiction of all times. I'm correcting it and uploading it here from another archive. It's been translated from my native language and I hope this version will be worth reading. :)

If everything was so simple that people shared their difficulties and problems I wouldn't be sitting here, although maybe even then either we would be honest to each other, or to forgive. To forget.

Nothing changes the facts though, they are still there in their cruel entity and whenever they get in front of us, their mere existence can tear up our wounds like a glowing steel even though those stitches were built up by our hard and exhausting work, consuming years of our lives. It's so easy to tear up those stitches, only a blink, a simple meeting, a distant voice is enough.

But to build up the walls again, close our thoughts inside and deny our feelings from ourselves and realizing how many illusions were holding us in their palms? Who can do this so easily? No books or teaches are about that, each and every human must learn the way through it by themselves, they say. To get through like booking, counting the wounds on our souls, estimate the damage and the probably never reachable healing? Then we get the final numbers and with our signature we give acceptance to the events around us and put the booking away to sit patiently on a deep shelf in our heart, where we will never open it again.

Everyone thinks how it goes is perfectly approved by others and this is how it should be, the feeling of betrayal and longing will soon pass and it won't be anything else, just a painful memory. A spot, a picture, a flash, nevertheless will remain to tell more than thousands of novels and poems, or paintings. I have hundreds of them in my galleries, in my libraries, still nothing can be compared to the sight and the voices I see and listen to in my head, in the nights. His face, his eyes, his hair, his look burnt into me every time he held his eyesight on me. To tell where I ruined everything or what I should have done instead of my decisions? No one under this sky can change the current situations but maybe everything goes on as it has to. In the end, the distance could have a major role to help in the scaling, however that hurt the most.

All the way down to be on his side, watching his actions and his early efforts to attempt his power, I would have loved to live through these again myself as well… and every time he looked up on me proudly, and me smiling contently made him feel the success. The worst is if you wished there was some kind of a connection, a bond between you two, and when you finally believed you could make it, the life gave you a bitter and painful confutation. Anytime you thought you are on the same wave and it can stay like that.. These worth something to the other… mentioning he liked the time he had spent in your company but then after all…

. . .

Sometimes I find myself watching the sparrows on the pavement. They catch up to the sky when someone gets close to them, then after a couple of minutes they land calmly and hop around as they did before. I would like to ease that simply, or find my peace. These times I try to close the sounds of the surrounding world out of my head and just looking at it as it is in its pure self. Cold. Detached. Everything seems to shine and when I enter a place I can see only the service… but the price they ask for is often too much.

I could mean this on the money I killed in his help, the time I spent in his company, on the energy I invested in him. On my thoughts which I planned his progress, I could mean it on the meetings with my superiors when I only wanted to defend and to protect him, I came to their heels like a dog. He would owe me a lot of things if I wrote it down and gave it in. Nights, which I spent with him to keep his dreams peaceful, mornings when I made breakfast for him, I taught him to behave and control himself… mostly. He could not even handle himself back then.

On the other hand, I would lie, it would be gross to claim I feel sorry for all my invested… life.

Even when I had found him on the fields I was struggling inside, hoping inside, he would be, just a small little piece of him… belong to me. Just for a small, precious time, to stay with me, however it hung in the air how fast he will grow up, and then… he didn't even sense how much for he could be grateful to me.

And I'm here again, gazing the trees, feeling the touch of the caressing wind on my cheeks, watching the graceful fall of the coloured leaves, the soaring birds in the air. Surrounds, still my being misses from it. Futilely I took deep breath, opening my eyes and even though I feel how the freshly frozen air fills my lungs from there, from my deepest parts, the space pierces me inside.

Everything happened so suddenly, didn't even mean anything that I had known about it… I have never wanted to believe he will actually do it. To me? Why especially to me? But if… if for him that meant advance and obviously it meant… then I have no reason to feel sorrow.

Every closed place I have to be in with him is poisoned and sweet in the same time. I hate when I have to raise my eyes on him, if I have to call his name and even if I manage to overcome this in myself, he always does something to break his small strain of confidence in me. Like… like he knew everything.

I prefer not to think on this bothersome topic.

The cell phone rings again, and the servant is standing on the edge of the pavement for around ten minutes. I must go there. I must be there.


	2. Raging Strings

Sure enough he didn't have any clue where I was before, why was I sitting in the Hyde Park for half an hour instead of having my lunch and just lounging without any reason to waste my time, watching dirty grey birds. To him these were insignificant… but so then, it really has no point at all. Passing by him silently, holding my hands in the pockets of my uniform trousers, I don't even look at him. It wouldn’t mean anything, I keep telling myself.

Any time I hold my eyes on him a small warning flame burns inside me, which makes me remember on the same feeling when I realized I have lost him. When I realized, he doesn't need me anymore. Not as friend, not as brother. How many times have I patched up his clothes, and how many times have I catered his wounds in turn?

"Arthur if you'a' not int'ested, you can even move you'a p'etty ass out with the s'ame end'urance as you came in." That guy's intolerable pronunciation goes on my nerves.

"Stop raping my language." I gave him that just as a statement as I sat down beside the oval table. The salon was in a conference building close to the lovely Kensington Gardens but from outside it looked like a simple block of houses with red brick cover and white adornments. The room itself was spacious and still gave a comfortable feeling to me with the arabesque decorations on the walls and the light green curtains hanging on the tall windows. The table itself was painted white and it had cases at each seat in which we already stored many papers up. About the chairs, I am certain they were made of cherry-tree and covered by green cushions.

As I held my right elbow on the table and looked around on the surrounding faces, basically I got a strange feeling for some reason. It is said that these nations, including me of course, are the leading forces on the globe called Earth (what a narrow-minded name). After all, our decisions have major effects on the life of it and we are called the Top Ten. Unfortunately this includes a lot of trash, I might want to start the list with that wine-drinking bastard called Francis Bonnefoy (what an ostentatious name, seriously, with his quantity of self-esteem I would be afraid of stepping out on the streets; someone might want to kill me with that amount of tastelessness).

After all… we are full of blonds, we can't have huge troubles.

The certain case we were about to discuss was the investments in Central-Africa, indicated by Alfred and Nikolaj and of course they might have forgotten to tell me about the cases of my heritage in that particular area. But really this is not that important, instead of mentioning this I started drawing on the little pamphlet in front of myself and I've gotten deeply in it for half an hour so far. It's not my business what they want to build in the middle of the jungle, anyways.

"Then, will England participate in the investment?" Asked me the Dutch suddenly from the other side of the table on my left, around the end of the conversation and as I pick up my head from my arms, I notice the booklet in front of me is totally destroyed by the ink of my pen. Most of the eyes except the peacefully sleeping Veneciano target me, but I prefer glancing down on my paper for a moment then back up on the prickly haired blond (!) man.

"It's not in my sphere of interest," admitting it on a rather cold voice, the other powerful nations are quite surprised by my resigned reply but they accept my answer. In real, my being there was completely unnecessary, America's voice kept echoing in my head. Cheerful, purposeful and he has no weak point, he had to be formed like this to get him where he is now.

But the secession wouldn't have to be certainly compulsory…

I have no idea how much time have gone so far when Ivan raises his hand to ask for a break, he wanted to have a phone-call and some other businesses to get done. With the intention of avoiding all unwanted contacts I quietly exit to the nearby balcony for the few free minutes we earned. When I look out to the streets from the fourth floor, among the grey clouds the sunlight reaches the surface of London only weakly, just with a diminutive feeling of warmth.

The pause, that small amount of time which I can spend on the open air helped me in the beginning: Alfred was not in the ten-meter radius. Standing beside the tall building's red brick walls, hands in my pockets I started gazing at the clouds again, however I had to close my eyes against the sunlight. The traffic has eased already on the streets, my nation was ready to rest for the night… as the opposite of our plans for the evening. The topic as the last one remained only Germany and the export trading plans, and sadly I didn't have any intention to attend this particularly interesting meeting, however… if I could not sit on my chair and listening like nothing bothers me, I wouldn't have right to call myself British again. I got used to that everyone in my environment thinks about me as one of the most stabile person and ex-empire. I ceased to have problems, I don't need anyone's help anymore, and no one can destroy me.

Is it so unbelievable that I have feelings? Is it so surprising that something can be troubling me?

I didn't even realize it as I slid down on the wall of the building and I’m squatting beside the balcony’s glass. The passer-by walks below me like a cloud. Smoothly, silently, undetectably like the breaths under my nose.

Just me is who stays there no matter that my knees are aching, I couldn't imagine better position and activity for myself. Alfred is with Kiku for sure. After all, he has no needs for me.

These times the self-destruction is painful and joyful at the same time. Living those moments again when I first looked at him, he held his eyes up on me, calmed by my presence and led me by my hands. For me he was so important that if France threatened him, I rushed for him, threw my pursuit away. The actual peace found me at times only when he held his arms around my neck and touched my hair, sound and safe at home.

Those times passed by long time ago, still piercing me till the present day. If I had done something wrong he would had told me, I know his honest personality enough to be convinced about this. If he had wanted to be independent we could have solved it somehow…

"Arthur."

I really missed him sure enough, hearing his cagey still interested voice. He hasn't seen me in such a position before, squatting at the side of a building like a homeless, gazing up on the sky, on the clouds. My answer for him is just a small wag; if my voice could work I could say something. My silent being is that calls his attention on the fact that something has happened to me.

"What's wrong?" Asking from me quietly, he steps beside me but without a touch and not coming down to me. If I started telling the depths of my heart, maybe he would freak out and leave me there, or would detest me because I still can chew myself on this.

"Nothing," merely breathing as my reply I don't take away my eyes from the sparrows who twit on the balcony of the house on the other side of the street. Several geraniums are planted in the pots there, the lovely small birds jump them around playfully. Of course to make him believe my sentence I want to add it's just my exhaustion, he interrupts my thoughts.

"Did someone hurt you?"

His question stuns me for a couple of seconds, I would like to refuse somehow, deny… but really, no one attacked me, still he cannot figure out anything. Just him… with his pure naivety in his soul which encouraged him to trust in me and rely on me. No one has hurt me. Sadly I can't convince myself about this either.

"Who hurt you?" he repeats it again, urging my answer. If he stays beside me like that… if he keeps asking me that fiercely… closing my eyes I have to take a deep breath to calm the trembling in myself. I can't tell where it comes from, just that the source is behind my heart, more like at the back of it so deeply that I'm unable to describe. It got stronger as the perception reached my conscious mind that Alfred was standing right beside me, breathing and his heart was beating only three feet far from me still so unreachable like the leaf that was taken by the wind far away, leaving the branch of the tree behind. But this lovely leaf has left by his own will.

"Go away." Saying it out on a normal voice, my mouth talks without my mind. "Please."

The blonde doesn't move. Now he unmistakably knows there is something wrong.

"Go away!" I repeat now with the usual scowl on my forehead.

"What happened? Is there something troubling you? Who has hurt you?"

"Just go away, please, can't you understand?"

"Come guys we wanna start!" Calls out Romano loudly and I'm standing up, forcing strength in my weakened legs. Beside me Alfred stands mistrustful and frowning, he watches me and tries to read from my eyes and my gestures and as a straight answer, I stiffen my heart and by this, cut all of his possibilities or reading me. Romano’s voice rings again on the hallway, "just one and a half hours, Ludwig says he doesn't want to be here for long, and you know how he is…"

Humming with a nod and putting my hands in the pockets of my trousers, I leave the Yankee there who looked at the same direction where I did some minutes ago. The sparrows were not there anymore.

I like Ludwig's negotiations. That man always knows what he wants and he counts every possible options to choose the best one, his decision is always unchangeable. He does not hesitate either which makes him absolutely reliable. When I'm listening to his speeches I know everything will go on stuck to the plans and nothing can interrupt them. He is a real man. Not like I'm not.

He would count on my help in the ingredients side and I'm nodding, sitting back in my chair as I warn him, basically I'm not on the top of the sailing trade nowadays, I would prefer the air-trade for some reason. Ludwig nods, writes down something on his notebook and turns to the Dutch again. So everything goes on as it has to. Europe on her way and I'm getting closer to them…

On the other hand, even if I'm in the company of Ludwig and Feliks, none of them has this aura like that idiot Yankee with those glasses. Even when it turned out that he doesn't see well, I knew it meant something about him growing again (not only territory-wise) even though that was after his declaration of independence. He just kept growing and changing in so many ways. The glasses were unique among us... I could count on my hands how many of us owned them.

I never needed things like that, but yet again he was so different since he was a child. We played, drew, walked in the forests… and when I had to take my departure, in the beginning he cried, he didn't want to let me go. He said he was afraid. Then as he grew he just got in tears and made me promise that I'll come back as soon as I can, but as soon as… And he was left there alone, but he kept growing stronger.

I do remember every occasion when I arrived at his place injured or troubled with exhaustion. Every time he pulled me down, I had to kneel in front of him to let him hug and grab my neck, then my collar or my jacket, as he climbed into my arms. How small he was still how strong… but sometimes he just held my face in his little palms, caressing me, hugging me and laughing. And I was just there as I was, I had to hug him due to the fact… he was the only one for I would have thrown away everything. Yeah… I have spent hell a lot of time at his place, far more then it's written in the records.

Once when I got beaten by a certain blond fashion-maniac jerk I didn't even go home but headed to Alfred to check if everything was fine, though my whole body was wrapped in bondages, half of my face was in gauze bondage but the jacket hid the ones covering up my body and the injures, he found them with his eyes on the first sight but still forced me to come down on my knees. Even then, however he saw the aching pain in my eyes, he kissed my forehead through the gauze with his small lips. I still feel it in the present day like it happened yesterday, the small, barely touchable sign on my skin, where his lips found me. Those seconds are like diminutive live coals inside me, sometimes burning so hard that I'm afraid I'll be torn apart by them. By their absence.

It was a clear fact that he would grow up. Pure fact, that he is another person with his own ambitions. I accept every tiny little thing just for him to be well. Just let him know, he still can count on me.

The years followed each other so fast like the cabs on the Trafalgar-square. Sometimes deeply wondering inside I watched how he put away his books and prepared for lunch. Often I found myself that he was looking at me; still I tried to pretend I don't know about it. Maybe that amount of attention wasn't enough for him? He wanted more? Everything has become meaningless for now. It doesn’t matter anymore.

As I’m sitting at the table in the conference room, the pen already fell out of my fingers but I don't care. Just gazing forward, towards the middle of the desk, meanwhile seeing thousands of gloomy pictures behind my eyes, those that I can't handle. The upsetting ache in my lungs grip my chest and I taste blood on my tongue before forcing it back. No one can push me out of that state, it will have to pass by itself. I don't hear the outside anymore, I don't feel the floor underneath my shoes, the chair which I sit in just cradles me deeper, covers me warmly in this waving sea of memories. America. Just a blink is enough to close my eyes, and I sense his scent which I would recognize from one thousands of others. I remember everything, anytime he hugged me, or leaned on me, or just simply relied on me. At that time, my warm uniform jacket, the chair propping my back, the air, everything seemed to transform around me. As I let it flow around myself, I felt it inside of me, him as well, leaning on my back, his arms entwining around my chest. Something strange has conquered my thoughts. I'm sinking behind my closed eyes.

I just ask only one time to live these through in reality… to feel this only once, in real.

This rips me into pieces.

And before I realized, I was already sleeping, leaning back in the chair, hugging myself with my arms.


	3. Arabesque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England is taken home by America.

3.

Voices cut through the ravelling darkness.

"Can't be that heavy… he has always been so slim," a man who stood around two feet from me now steps beside my chair, one of his hands touches under my knees while the other one reaches behind my waist, where he slides his arm down a little to lift me. I register as my head falls towards his shoulders and just barely at my consciousness I feel how the dark-brown cowhide jacket's smell melts in my nose and catches my breath. My left ear rests at his shoulder as he stabilizes his hold under my knees, gently putting his chin on the top of my head to pull me towards himself, "I take him home”, he whispers to the other person present.

"I'll follow you to the car," I don't recognize the voice, it’s too quiet.

"Quiet. Don't wake him up, man," He clears his throat and with a shy glance up I see the flash of his glasses and the movement of his neat blond hair. "If he wakes up and finds himself in my arms I guess he would kick my head off."

If it wasn’t you, carrying me I would... but it seems you are not protecting my dreams.

He must have been holding me in his arms all the way home since the touch of the cold silk sheets and the softness of my blanket wakes me. Trying to compose myself and recover a little of my dignity, I reach for the edge of the bed with a careworn move to lift myself up while with my other hand I have to wipe my face to clear my sight before looking up on him with an exhausted groan and ragged breaths. He stands beside my bed in his jacket, as I see his furious blue eyes are filled with worried incomprehension, these two fought an ocean-blue battle and parch on me for the split of the second. I can't bear it for more; I must avert my gaze, it’s too heavy.

"What's wrong?" He is asking me with inevitable power, catching my breath in my throat for a moment and I prefer to correct the position of my pillow under my head and purposefully keeping my eyesight away of his figure, but he doesn't give it up. "Don't make fool of me!"

"Nothing," replying quietly I lower my head and pull the two blankets on my shoulders. In order to calm my racing heart I attempt to seem exhausted and shut my eyes. _Of course_ I'd never tell the burden I carry, everything would be over between us. That tiny little bond which hangs on a breadth of hair…

"Don't play around me, old man! Maybe I could help you!"

His forceful demand grips my heart and uncontrollably I have to flinch. Why does he have to talk on such a loud voice all the time?

"Don't shout with him!" Peter's voice echoes in the room for one or two seconds as the small sailor stands in the doorway before running, stomping inside angrily in his white uniform, he grabs the arm of the American and tries to pull him away with all power he has in his tiny legs. Of course Alfred doesn’t even lose his balance, just looks down on the child with disbelief but Peter locks his hands around the man’s right lower arm,"leave him alone! He wants to sleep, can't you see?"

I can’t tell which causes Alfred’s growing surprise. The fact that after all arguments and scolding, Peter still intends to spend a lot of time in my house and company or the phenomenon that such a powerless creature practically jumped on the mighty personification of the USA.

"But something's troubling him a lot!" Rather nervously the blonde tries to pull his arm away while he tries not to hurt the littlun's feelings at the same time. He looks back at him with wide eyes as if he could convince such a persistent child like Peter. I appreciate that but I have to sigh at the rather bothersome scene.

As predicted, Peter wouldn’t give up.

"He is an adult; he can solve it himself and he just needs to relax! C'mon, get out of here! Perhaps you are hurting him right now!"

"Peter…" Calling his name on a barely audible voice, the boy's eyes widen with the surprised attention he pays on me. I don't think that he has ever seen me that weak before. Slowly he releases Alfred's arm, shame darkening his young looks and steps away from the other who strokes his right arm for a couple of seconds as if it would have been wounded. Together they stare down on me, question and disbelief on both of their faces but I’m just trying to relax and breathe deeply with barely open eyes and savouring the gradually warming blanket. Before talking again I clear my voice and address the small-sized sailor, "go to have a bath then you can read a bit and then sleep, good night dear."

The ambassador of Sealand is confused for a second before asking whether this is sure or not, and I'm nodding my response. His American cousin is frowning again and he wants to say something when Peter interrupts him.

"Alfred, today you'll read for me," and walks out, however he keeps his examining, suspicious eyes on me until he steps out on the corridor. “Good night, Arthur!”

Curiously I open my eyes and look up on the grown-up man to see his very reactions. Alfred's breath is taken for a couple of seconds that's obvious then with lagging voice he agrees and clears his voice. This can bring up hell a lot of memories from deep inside of him to the surface, I can almost see and spot in his ocean blue eyes how the tremendous, heavy feelings encounter him. Yes, Peter likes the tales too.

Closing my eyes with exhaustion and taking deep breaths I try to relax again though my heart pounds in my chest with painful thumping. The bespectacled still stares at the door for another minute long before on a rather soft, quiet voice he asks, "what do I have to read out for him?"

"The…Brownie's Adventures," that's the first answer for all of his questions today but this reply reaches his heart even more deeply, he tightens his fist and nods. After all, he loved these goblin tales as well, it wasn't enough to listen to them once, no, he asked for them again and again for weeks and I had to convince him that other good stories do exist beside these as well. Then his favourite was Robin Hood… justice, freedom, heroes, love… and all that bloody cliché. "He is now at the Kitty over the Milk-pot chapter."

"How many times already…?"

So he knows.

A bittersweet smile appears on my mouth, for one reason of his voice which is a weak attempt to lack any kind of emotions; the other reason is the meaning of his question, which is rather ironic.

"Maybe the sixth… only."

I don't know what emotions take place in his soul right now but unambiguously he is being harrowed by his own storms of memories and arising affections inside. In the old days when he was frustrated, with the most simplicity he just asked me whether he can sleep with me for the night or just climbed in my arms while I was reading. Now he is leaving. I guess he realized that Peter needs someone caring about him to keep his young soul calm… before he pulls the door after himself, he calls my attention again.

"Wait for me! Don't fall asleep yet, I have to talk to you."

Alfred… if this whole trouble is because of you… then exactly your closeness and your voice will be the ones from which I'll fall apart… but if you would leave now… Peter can't see me in that state. It can’t be helped, I’ll rather remain broken and beyond all possible stitches to pull my shredded self together again, than letting the child know my burdens. He wouldn’t deserve it.

Maybe ten or twenty minutes pass in comfortable silence as I'm floating between dozing and consciousness, my gaze wandering aimlessly on the ceiling and occasionally my blink falls on the door where the light of the corridor sneaks in a narrow hole, giving a shady dim atmosphere to the room. This room is rather spacious but it didn't have much furniture in it, just my queen sized bed, dressers on the right side and on the opposite side of the bed beside the door, the wardrobe with my suits. On the left side, the noises of the streets seldom get through the wide and tall windows which meant the time was already around seven or eight o'clock in the evening. Indeed, Peter has to sleep, he is an obedient child.

Alfred has never fallen asleep so easily. I had to play with him or to let him caress my hair or my chest till he didn't feel calm enough and his lovely blue eyes closed. Then as he grew, his affection has changed and he didn't hang that much on me like before, he stroke my face fewer times, and didn't cherish me as he did before. And that gave me a horrible amount of silent pain which of course, I had to bear since it was for the better. He grew.

Suddenly, grabbing me out of my thoughts the door opens and he enters, walks to the left side of my bed and sits down worn-out, as he sits with his back to me he lets his elbows on his knees to cover his eyes and cheeks by his palms. So… he read to him.

The American sits around three feet away from me still I can feel, I can hear his breathing as the air escapes among his fingers, through his nose, in and out again and again. I'd love to allow myself a single touch, just of his jacket but I have to control myself. This all happens in reality, not in my dreams. And he is here.

"It's clear and obvious that something has happened to you," giving it forth he would like to hear a reply but that's the minute when I realize I'm still in my uniform in my own bed. My eyes widen and my face turns pale with the urge of the immediate change which has given me power to step out of my bed and walk to the dresser even though it is on the blonde's side. From him around two feet I start buttoning my green uniform jacket and feign neglect. The air was freezing cold, I can’t resist a shiver when it climbs under my shirt with its frozen fingers. Untying my belt and stepping to the cases, I hear Alfred's burdened sigh again, "so… if you stay in silence it means yes? Home affairs?"

Home affairs? No, there aren't any strikes and even though I’m not in the best shape financially I’m rather content and you know it too… just my soul is in pieces but that’s under the surface. You never cared about such things in other nations.

Careworn I pull up the sweatpants which are simple black cotton trousers, before I finally unbutton my shirt and fast, not letting myself shiver from the cold again, I put on the dark-blue tee I use for sleeping. Still letting him be without any reply I walk back and climb in my place to take a deep breath in relief when I can finally lie comfortably on my back with the blanket pulled on my chest. I’m trying to avoid his sight and yes I’m also working on a strategy to get him out of my room but my rational, responsible mind is somewhere hiding at the moment. Probably at the same place where my physical strength escaped. Alfred turns to me half-sided and all of a sudden he puts his right hand on the bed. "Foreign affairs?"

With a gentle hum I turn my gaze away towards the other side of the room, and let my gaze slip through the windows. In the meantime the sky really got dark outside, the lights of the streetlamps streets look like gloomy, dirty yellow orbs, shining pale in the evening. Even though this house was enough for the three of us, it cooled off way too easily and too many noises could infiltrate from the street ward side of the building. The curse of having wide, old windows which I haven’t replaced yet with modern types. Old mistakes... I have a whole lot of them.

 "So foreign? Who was it?" I didn't expect that sudden reaction at all, he props himself quite close in the middle of the bed, his fingers are so near I felt their weight and pull on the blankets. But what really bothered me was something different.

Foreign affairs? Seriously? Why would he be interested in that, it would mean just another dumb European quarrel over something trivial for him? How did he think that someone would threat me? No one has interest in my country, especially after the negotiations today it wouldn't make sense at all. Well, it's not important, meaningless. Why is he getting so nervous about it?

"Was it Francis?" The Frenchman? He wouldn't have any reason (and bravery either).

I’m still just staring towards the windows, trying to keep the light of my eyes empty and attempt to hold my gaze on the light of the street lamps for a long time, watching the occasional raindrops fall… I don't want him to figure anything out or just even sense a tiny bit of this shameful, pathetic behaviour of me.

"Ivan?" he really doesn't give up and I reply with  a heavy sigh in such a crestfallen way that he can't take it as an answer. He blinks and pulls himself closer but he deducts something from my reaction, since I turn to the windows and decide to pull the blankets up to my ears to cover my form from him. All he can see of me is my hair and my left ear. Neat. I intend to keep it that way, hopefully he’ll understand that I’ll not answer his questions. Eventually, he’ll leave.

"Feliks? But… But if something like that happens why don't you tell it to me? You think you can protect yourself?"

There goes my well-practiced, well-known patience.

“I need no one and nothing to protect me, I’m well capable of doing so you blunt twat.”

He is way too surprised at the fact that finally I answered; he even forgets what he wanted to say and what response he got. His quietness is a bliss, I spend it with closed eyes and even let a small sigh escape my lips. However my peace is short-lived since after a couple of silent moments he opens his mouth again and breaks this wonderful silence, his voice calls even closer to me than before which actually causes my heated palms to drop the first sign of sweat along with my growing alertness. I can’t let him get to me. I can't bear this till the morning.

"Who has hurt you?"

His voice is somehow… soft… like he was really asking that… like he really would care.. I can’t tell and I can't answer either. I can't… but with all of this happening in the same evening, his persistence drawing so long and not leaving my exhausted, _old_ mind alone after a week of negotiations, I reach the point when I just grunt and imagine how I’m shutting the emotions in the storage of my heart. He lowers his head in defeat and desperation I hear as he pulls his shoes off (he forgot to take them off at the door again) puts his feet up on my bed. Silence fills the room.

Both of us are breathing. His breaths are fast, more frustrated, perhaps in his head the thoughts are racing while I'm just lying there merely gazing through the transparent window and I can still see him in the reflections. I can look at him; he is still in his jacket. We are beside each other for a long time, he is around one foot far from me, breathing, concentrating on the entire situation, his heart beats like a caged bird’s, and he is so far away from me… I feel like whole worlds are separating us.

I’m not allowed to touch, speak or even look the way I would feel.

With empty, dim blinking at my own reflection I let myself sink silently with the intensifying pull towards the deep, and let it hold my soul. At least he is here… this has to be enough. This only, is left for me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fast update for InvaderPey :3


	4. Solid State Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England finally makes a decision.

4.

The time passes in languid quietness for its lenght remains undeterminable for both of us but either of us is able to pull a string of strength from the inside to initiate a move. The seconds unite into minutes and the axis of time flows on its usual pace. We remain unmoved and still, only the silence stretches the distance between us. Oh, the irony.

He knows that I'm awake, I’m certain since he is watching me, his gaze is tangible on the nape of my head and I can also spot him from the reflection of the windows, his eyes covering my figure with bitterness. I shut my eyes for a second to digest the weight of it. For my growing discomfort I sense the touch of strong still tender fingers on my shoulder and when finally reaching me, they grab me in order to pull me towards him.

"Arthur," I hear his voice is lowering into whisper, "tell me who hurt you. Please, tell me."

My eyes widen as I'm stupefied at the realization that he is trembling. I can feel this through the hand holding me firmly, through the small, almost imperceptible shakes of his arm and his whole body which stuns me.  Hearing him swallow hard I can’t reply, my mind is blank, a void and merely a broken breath leaves my lips.  The image of his Adam’s apple bob with the action is glued to my eyes and yet I want nothing else but to get rid of him. My head parted from the pillow a bit, the alarming fact of his touch and despair tempts me to be drawn to him even more. Infuriating.

"I… I won't go away until you tell me, Arthur. And then I'll bomb him down till… there won't be any trace of him anymore, and…, “he swallows again and with a small shake of his head, attempts to collect his thoughts.”Till I reach the crust of the Earth.. I don’t care how many would be in my way, I won't find my peace… just please tell me already."

I haven't heard him using this voice before, raw from determination and honesty. Almost pure.

He was begging for me, his grip almost painful on my skin and yet I still cherish every second of it… since he touched me. My eyes close with tender peacefulness as the inevitable parting approaches. He won’t stay till the end.

As the seconds follow each other and slowly he realizes he'll stay without reply, the blonde takes his hand away and presses his fist to his own chest. His vivid blue eyes close as his quiet confession melts into the cold air.

"Tell me… what should I do?” merely a breath… I barely understand.

I could just mumble anything that comes to my mind. Money, territory, oil, women, anything… I don't need any of these. I don't need anything anymore, just… to stop this damned caustic cutting, this burning, smouldering hell in my soul, let me be free of that piercing, rotting state already…

"Arthur…"

I can't bear this anymore.

I have to breathe with my eyes pressed down, letting the mops of my hair to fall in my forehead and into my face only hoping that it’s enough to cover my eyes. If just for a couple of seconds, but let me feel his skin on mine once again. Just this once, the warmth, the strength and the fact that he is there. I’ll be satisfied with this. Just once more.

My throat burns and my own breathe strangle s me.

"Hug me."

Immediately Alfred moves, throws his jacket on the floor and climbs under the two blankets before carefully pulling his figure to my back and hugs my waist with his left arm.

Huddling up against my back his form envelopes mine and I have to lift my head only to rest it on his right upper arm, almost on his shoulder. His hand leans back and I sense as his frozen, calloused fingers play with my hair, as he puts his palm on my forehead as if to reassure and calm me and I can't resist giving in myself to the stillness, while I struggle with keeping my eyes closed, my arms still hugging my own sides. Daring my own self I force a breath in and out again, now with the weight of his arms around my shape. Overwhelming; my heart does that stretching and tightening grip and I actually have to release a silent gasp and push my fist into my own chest. He is so tender, all his caresses burn and cool on my skin with hope and deception.

Be still, my beating heart. Savour the moment since this is all that’s left for you.

Silence and stillness captures my whole body while fills all of my atoms with comforting feeling of warmth from behind… like an unspoken resurrection. I feel the air making its way into my lungs and even my heart ceased crawling under my ribs. Alfred's left hand caresses my stomach through the shirt and then stills on the sheets. As I feel his broad shoulders bracing mine and his chest rising and meeting my back periodically, I fail to resist a small shudder and force myself to swallow all the pain I had before and as well chasing my own thoughts into the same void.

Perhaps he feels the same but I'm not quite sure since he is still trembling for some reason. His nose releases the air flowing warm in the back of my head; his breath lags and vibrates sometimes.

"Arthur…" his utter distracts me from sinking back into emptiness, into the simplest joy ever felt. He always interrupted me in everything. "Do you remember… when you saved me on the Elcano? I'll never forget it as long as I live."

For a few seconds my mind lingers in confusion until the memories find their way from the back of my mind. How could I forget...? However the reason behind mentioning and bringing this topic forth remains unknown for me.

"It was a huge mistake of me, bringing you there." Answering on a rather acceptable voice, I let out a deep breath, and with one hand I give in to the temptation to reach his fingers beside my stomach with mine and entwine them.

"Never, never anyone had stood out for me like you did… no one else will…"

"Alfred…" I'd like to turn my head towards him, but he cuts in.

"It was your last ship… the last, and…" I know, I feel, something wished to come out of his soul so fiercely like never before. He wants to tell me something, a message or a feeling, I’m still not certain... My only chance of knowing it was listening to all what troubled his mind. "Carriedo stood in front of me, and we were already sinking… I know it was him, he wanted to shoot me with his pistol, he was waiting for the moment when you arrived… do you remember?"

Forgetting such moments... forgetting ships? I’d be the shame of all pirates and captains in the history of the navy.

I'll be the last to forget as the ship was leaning towards its back and he, in his small white clothes and tiny deer hide boots running down on the staircase from the stern and right after this, the petrifying breath of death reached him when he saw the pistol targeting him. In the minute when I arrived and squatted down to him, he grabbed into my white shirt with both of his tiny hands while trying to balance himself towards me. He gazed at the Spaniard like he didn't even perceive what was happening around him… He was so tiny, as I was squatting beside him he reached up just to my chin.

"In your left hand you held the empty pistol on your shoulder, but with the harder steel one you targeted him." His words melting into my ears, I feel as he took small breaths to remember. "and your eyes… your eyes were glowing so… I haven't seen you like that since then… so wild… so dangerous. I never felt safer."

It was only my fist, still tightly holding at the place of my heart. In my memories I could see him grasping at the linen of my shirt at the very same place. His hold never lost its strength, merely the manner.

"Do you remember what I told to Carriedo?"

- _"One empty thought of him and I’ll kill you.”_

Enough to touch you, enough to think about you, if he would have done a step towards you, I'd had made him equal with the bloody plain ground. I wanted to say this, but it was way too long.

"But after these fights and victories… why did you stop?"

These questions come from a still immature and uncomprehending mind. Now I could see in a more stabile, clearer way. He was only around four hundred years old; can’t digest the experiences of a millennia.

"I wanted to provide you safety, and it couldn't work if I was in war with someone," for telling him in a casual voice I clear my throat but he doesn't accept my answer.

"Why did you just leave like that?"

This is the final point when I feel my eyes are shutting by themselves and I let the air to flow out of my lungs as if I was carrying a terrible burden which wouldn’t ease.

He mentions the time when I realized how much how much he was worth to me in real. I couldn't let anyone hurt him… he had been so fragile and I was already grown, mature, and with a tremendous amount of responsibility on my shoulders. At that time, the navy and the fleet were the most important for me, I have never felt so free anywhere else but on the stern or while sitting on the main mast's pole with that ridiculously oversized plumed hat on my head, in the scarlet-coloured jacket, the wind blowing into my face and viciously biting into my skin. Those decades...

In the end of the sixteenth century, nothing else occupied my mind but to beat that bloody Spanish bastard, and on one journey I had to take Alfred along, not to make any target or object of deal of him. On the way to London we had a terrible fight on the sea and Antonio got on my ship. Amazing, this lad’s memory indeed stored all from the occasion while my own attempts to bury all underneath a thick cover...

Alfred was on the stern beside the steering wheel as he was told but in the chaos his survival instinct took over and ran down the stair with the hopes to find me and by this, unintentionally of course, he just exposed himself in front of the leader of the Spanish Armada. That time I was still up on the mast but as I had looked down and saw his tiny figure in those white clothes just around ten feet from Carriedo, I felt my blood freeze and my worst nightmares play with my sight. The Spaniard’s lips had curled into an evil smirk, like someone who had found the most deadly weapon of the era. We didn’t know yet that it would be true.

I still remember as with the fastest move in my life I grabbed the clew line, and slid down on it to land right next to Alfred squatting and pointing my gun at the Spanish. The dirty-blond boy's small fingers touched and grabbed the linen of my shirt as he does now… vacillating, hesitating, still with the rock-hard fact that I'm there and he can trust me. I'll protect him from everything even if everything what I have built up, or everything that I am now will perish. That time I had bent so close to his hair, I felt the scent even in those few seconds, but that's how I showed him he is not in danger anymore. With all I had, I would stand in front of that gun again.

And now… He is the one, hugging me, warming me up and replenishing the peace in my soul. I wish we could stay like this for ever… tightly… close.

The very next morning...

Several hours later the dawn unveils us as I'm facing him, my forehead touches his chest and I feel as my consciousness slowly awakens from tranquillity. My fingers caress his back, his broad shoulder blades and party the soft golden hair on the nape of his neck; my left holds his shirt and gently keeps it. His peaceful breaths are stroking my hair as his lips give the slightest touch and I can feel as he kisses my head while he is deeply asleep.

With a long sigh I attempt to strengthen my heart but the moment he moves his knee which lies between my legs, my eyes widen. With a fast check I state that both of us are dressed and for a second I feel as my blood pressure decreases, but... where are his trousers?

" _If it's okay, can you lend me a boxer?"-_ His whispers from the night pop into my mind after a second of despair.

Thank you, for Heaven's sake.

Just for my selfish indulgence I spend probably half an hour in his arms... and I can't be content enough of his fragrance, his touch and as he is protecting me even in his dreams... at least I choose to believe this as his fingers trace uncharted circles in my hair and on my waist. The two blankets are holding us warm enough, away from intrusive sights.

Everything seems to be idyllically perfect. Gently, barely touching stroke his back from his neck down to his waist and thus earn a sound as he groans in his dreams, but he didn't wake or stir yet. His shoulders are broad since he has strong muscles there and I can’t help but wish to be embraces by his entire figure which means nothing but promises, being held and never abandoned again.

 I reach up to touch his hair which is moderately thick but soft as it has always been. Being aware not to move my upper arm much, with an increasing curiosity mixed with desire I let my fingers stroke on the nape of his neck again. It still has a rather silky touch.

Closing my eyes I cuddle him a little bit to myself since I don't have much time left. With the opening of my palms, I try to pull his back towards myself but he winces and tightens his embrace around my waist and my shoulders. Now, I must turn my face to the side and press myself to him with my whole body not to break my neck. The pest, he is.

 I think he is awake. Not like it would change anything in our position, the minutes are following each other in the same muteness like before. I don't want anyone and anything to interrupt us, even if it's quite ambiguous what we are currently doing. I'm not convinced that beside us anyone else would like to sleep like this... except the few privileged who came to terms with their feelings. Maybe I'm thinking too much...

The hall-clock starts tinkling and  just with the frozen shiver that captures my insides again, with a deep breath I also have to admit the end of our idyll. That was it. All I had and deserved. The world goes on.

Peter needs breakfast.

With the lazy slowness of the morning I try to climb out of his embrace then out of the bed and brush my hair into a more decent look with a slow, sleepy movement of my left hand. My shirts are partly unbuttoned, and albeit I shoot cursing and poisonous eyes at the Yankee, his sky-blue eyes are languidly following my walk as I go to his side of the bed and I start changing my clothes.

He turns on his back, clears his throat but he is just looking at me and the blanket reaches up to his slightly chiselled chest. Like this, without his glasses he seems to be innocent and young, almost pure and of course even more attractive than before.

"Wher'ya goin'?" asks, his raw voice falters because of the long sleep he took, I can hear as he swallows to ease his throat.

"I'm heading to make breakfast," my own voice comes out rather hoarse as well.

"What's the breakfast...?" party moaning, partly  yawning as he is stretching his muscles on his arm, I can’t help but gaze at him in wonder till I finish buttoning my white shirt and the plaid vest. The usual. He’d call it _classy_.

"What you like... chips and fish," I clean my throat and force back a sigh before tearing my eyes away of his form, still lying and looking at me with eyes that send electrifying jolts of cold down my spine.

“Don’t make any sauce please..." with another moan he sits up and the blankets fall down into his lap resulting that this way I can see him without his shirt and his jacket on, just in a loose tank top. His shoulders, his chest, his stomach. I prefer go and not answer any comment on his request.

"Dress up. It's cold."

Half an hour later I'm setting the table, calling for Peter but when he doesn't reply I decide to look for him myself. In his age it’s possible to lose focus on the usual duties and most likely he just needs an occasional reminder. I'm already knocking on the door when Alfred appears on the other side of the narrow corridor and waves to me. He dressed up properly and on some sort I'm glad that he borrowed one of my sleeping shirts which are big enough for him to wear and he is not in the same clothes he wore yesterday.

As I let my gaze settle on him in front of the little sailor’s room, I feel my heart sink  before it starts beating gradually faster with his approach. His face is uncharacteristically serious and when Peter calls out that he is already dressing up, the bespectacled reaches with his left hand out and closes the door. Before I could give voice to my infuriated thoughts he pulls me into an embrace and here I’m standing, paralyzed with widely open eyes.

 I cannot even perceive the actions thus I'm not strong enough to untie his hold around my shoulders and waist. I’m quite confused of the appropriateness of this situation but since I feel the heat in my cheeks and in my ears grow and burn my skin, I am certainly inclined to act against this scandalous behaviour.

"Don't fuck with me, Alfred..."

He grunts as a reply, causing me to gape and wonder, where did all the lectures about manners go?

After half minute of struggle I decide to give in, not just because he holds me in his steel grip but as I feel his sleepy scent in my nose I feel a strange  peacefulness surge in my heart. He will hold me as long he wants anyways so I put my hands on my waist, as if rebelling against the shouting urge in my heart to hug him back tightly, “ stop it, you tactless hedge-pig."

"Calm down," whispering into my ears he pushes me a bit away just to look into my eyes and examine something in there while his arms are still lying on my body. His actions only bring my defensive side forth; I give him an angry glare paired with my trademark scowl. I’m quite aware that he tries his best at reading me right now.

"You're the reason of everything," quietly giving it to him I know he clearly has no clue what I’m talking about and probably he doesn’t care since he eases his cheek back on my shoulder and caresses my back, as if trying to sooth me. His breathing is calm and I can’t find the implications of the sigh he releases upon finally letting me go.

"If you are that grumpy, it means at least you feel better."

"Go to the kitchen, we're joining you in a minute," I tell him with a casual voice and he nods with a knowing smile on his face. I can't interpret the meaning properly but as he passes beside me, putting his hands in the pockets' of his jacket he also starts humming some melody I don’t recognize. My frown only deepens. He knows something that I don’t? Did he see through...?

As the best distraction and the only reason of my frank, welcoming smile that day the young little sailor opens his door with a wide smile on his face and decides to step beside me so I can look at his clothing and check. At times Peter tends to mix his socks or wear a shirt inside-out so for the sake of not embarrassing himself and me, we decided to go on this routine.

"What's for breakfast, Arthur?" he asks and before I could set his cap on its right place on his head he jumps away, so I give up with a disappointed sigh.  It seems he likes it that way.

"Fish and chips, like last time," the child starts chuckling for a short time as we walk towards the kitchen.

"You can't mess that up, jerk?"

"Like you had any kinds of specialities!" I can’t resist snapping at him slightly, but he sticks out his tongue as a reply.

"Alfred is here and you want to show off?" Grins the child.

"What?" I feel as my ears turn red and before walking down the stairs I shake my head with disapproval, "nothing of that sort! Is it so surprising that I can do something properly?"

"Nah, but normally you make puree of vegetables and you put it to something fatty bacon, and mix some awkward sauce to it."

"Hey, if you learned doing something on your own then you'll have right to criticize!" Giving a small snap on the back of his head, he starts running after Alfred with a loud laughter and I follow him in the pace I did before in a rather annoyed mood. His needs and complaints give me headache.

The kitchen belongs to the dining room, being an old house this is one of its advantages; I could stride behind the table and in two steps I was at the oven again. The wallpapers are light-green in both rooms and on the other side of the diner, right behind Alfred I had a sideboard and a bureau with full of porcelains and china. Long time ago I got one set specially from Kiku, that one was on the top shelf, safely away from Peter's unstable hands. As long as he won't find out how to pull there the chair, everything is safe.

The table itself could serve six people at the same time and it has a vase in the middle of it with two white roses. The cloth underneath was simple white and I liked the pairing of the cherry tree table's shade with the vase and the flowers. It gave a fashionable, peaceful image to the whole room. Now three of us are sitting, my place is at the head of course, on my left is the littlun and on my right, the American. The last mentioned picks his fork and sticks the fish with it for a couple of seconds which only makes me irritated, my blood pressure is on the ceiling again however I try to busy myself, tucking up the arm of Peter's shirt to his elbow.

With an annoyed voice I try not to look on the ‘grown-up’s’ handsome, bespectacled face, just trying to finish the fight with the troublesome boy's left cuff. "W... what? You don't like it?".

"I do, just checked if you fried it properly," and as before he gives me the same knowing smile while on the opposite side Peter is already starting to mill the potatoes, as he usually does. How irritating when the man serves someone at his table and long ago he had to cook for that particular person. Blasted emotions, I give too much credit for his opinion.

During our unusually quiet breakfast I'm deeply in my thoughts and wonder about the programs of the day when it pops into my head that I had promised Peter that he can sit in one negotiation, yes, this is the third day of the conference. Today nothing important would be mentioned; those matters had already been on the schedule, of course if Francis won't get a heart attack at an inappropriate service in the hotel's restaurant. The world wouldn't lose much.

"Oh," Alfred swallows the current bite and pokes towards me with his fork, a move at which my left eye twitches. "Today, the topic will be about the pumps in the ocean?"

"It's Ivan's territory; I can't understand what you want there, anyways how many times shall I remind you not to play with your silverware?" I reply him with rightful annoyance and pretend not looking at him from my peripheral sight.

"C'mon, I’ll pay him everything," he waves dismissively with his f.o.r.k.

"In your shoes I wouldn't have any business with him. I have more interest in Yao's topic about the investments in the mountains." Lies... Who is so vehement to build power station above twenty thousand feet? So troublesome, but well, Chinese people like challenges and it’d be interesting to watch.

"You'd run off your world from the first sight of a yeti,’ he chuckles, but before I could give a retort he continues, "are there any mines?"

"Of course, we talk about mountains, bison-brain."

"Well, I'll be interested if you guys found oil there."

"I have oil!" Speaks up Peter with his bright blue eyes, "will you buy it?"

"I would but I need Arthur's permission in your case," laughs the blonde and playfully winks at me who is already picking up the mess from under Peter's plate, teaching the boy a new lesson for the life.

"Do not ever trade with him, Peter; he would buy you too in the end."

"Hey, I buy the useful things only!"

"So I'm useless?" The littlun stands up in the second and I'm already covering my forehead and my eyes with the palm of my left hand, and with a tired sigh I take a bite of fish from my fork. Alfred hisses the child down and strokes my right shoulder as a sign that they are quiet again.

"Alright, we finished it. No quarrels at the table.”

He still knows that I hate loud discussions around the table.

"I'm just curious about some things Yao will list, but really, Ivan has the front position in my interests. Last time with Kiku we were talking about working together in some military technology, he would produce the microchips for this once as a collaboration for research," he tells me this like that's the news of the year.

"You could choose from twenty different colours, but don't be surprised if your tank started to dance on the battlefield. Yao would take it more seriously and he could manufacture these in larger amounts, cheaper. But you've always needed Kiku, didn't you?"

Humming, he frowns but I see some other feelings on his face which I can't interpret. Hurt, discomfort and some kind of disappointment but then again he only nods and mentions he can’t follow my thinking at times. I would name it planning... idiot yankee, he is always so hasty with decisions.

"When will the negotiation start?" Peter asks and Alfred turns to me with a surprised, almost scared face and with the usual calmness parents contain around children, I raise my eyes calmly on the clock on the wall, above the sideboard.

"At ten, now it's nice o'clock. Relax."

Do I really have to go there?

Just sit there and listen to their arguments and their urge to feel themselves significant? If I think about it, Alfred can take Peter there too; he can look after him... I hope. I don't want to have more encounters with him, maybe I'm not even ready to watch and listen, to bear as he pretends to be kind with everyone and as he handles them... It would be a pointless waste of a whole day, I can ask the documents from Wang then read and decide with the ministers later. I don't have to act charming and suffer from Alfred's presence. Basically even though he sits in the reach of my arm the obvious, tangible distance between us tears me from thinking with my usual peace.

Probably the last night was enough to ease his worries but he still senses that there is something wrong. I hate this deadlock but what if he asks on the parley, who dared to threaten me or to attack me? I'm not up for such a scene, seriously. In the end, I would have to put a comment there.

I have made my decision.

"Go with Peter," I tell him without looking directly at him, of course I get surprised gazes from both of my sides, "show him the building and don't lose him."

"Why?" Asks the pilot, his mouth still full of food... dear God... he acts like I haven't taught him any manners at the table.

"I assume you are mature enough to patrol a kid, albeit if I take your eating habits as a base for that assumption I wouldn't even entrust a duck on you."

"And what will you do?" Asks the (other) child, with honest curiosity.

"I have some businesses to be done," I reply with a kind smile on my face, since Peter always deserves that from me. "I'll be late, but you don't have to worry."

"Don't go too far in that," warning me with the sense of irony, Alfred swallows the last bite of the fish, but as a reply I just hum, I don't owe him with any sort of explanation. One snow-white fairy flies up from the bouquet of the vase and I can’t help but follow her with my eyes towards the corridor. I give a sly smile to her appearance and with that, I know exactly what I'm going to do.

"Peter don't forget, you have to be in the harbour at six o'clock in the evening! And you... "turning to the American, I wait till he looks up on me with his vivid blue eyes. "Give him some proper lunch at noon."

"Dun' worry about that! We won't have trouble," laughs Alfred and I have to release a sigh upon hearing Peter’s cheerful ‘Yea, double-cheese burger!’.

"Keep his kidney alive," I murmur with a barely visible smirk on my face and the blonde from my right looks at me with the eyes as if he would say, " _That hurts, you know."_  Without any comment, I turn to Peter, "if you finished it you can go, I'll deal with the rest."

Alfred nods and fast eating the left parts of his breakfast he takes his departure and this is a bright example how immature he is, still not knowing or caring how fast a child can eat. Peter tries to chew faster for around half a minute then he slows down to his original pace. Slowly standing up I spend some minutes in the other room, then bring him some milk from the kitchen which he drinks it up immediately. He is definitely a good boy. The other blonde with the glasses stares from the doorway as I take Peter's napkin then his plate and his mug to deliver them to the sink.

"You're still a household fairy," he notes it as I wipe up the mess that Peter made on the table, and that sentence causes an absolutely embarrassing blush on my cheeks, while on the other hand, makes me irritated.

"Didn't you want to check your car or something, you twit?"

"Alright, alright, don't bite off my head," lifting up his hands up to his chest, Alfred excuses himself with a strange smile on his mouth like he was amused at my reaction and he leaves me there to sulk. Before they leave Peter hugs me and expresses his thanks then runs after the blue-eyed yankee.

Finally... silence.

After washing the dishes and putting them on their places I planned to clean up the dirt that was caused my Alfred's filthy boots last night, but a servant did it already. At least they exist.

Quite annoyed at the fact that the American messed up my entire morning, I walk back to the bedroom and after stepping to the wardrobe I take off my favourite shirts and ties from the shelves. The luggage lain in the other side of the room so I had to pull it to the bed and start packing the clothes in. I won't be needed much... just not to see... any of them. No one.

My idea is the exact opposite of what should be doing by the logical way of thinking, but who am I to think logically? If I could confront the problem (in this case, Alfred) I would just throw myself on the floor emotionally and for some reason I don't find pleasure in giving a mental punch into my own face. He is exactly the one who should be concerned about keeping a proper distance from me. The tactless American.

Having business with Ivan, that guy with those hero-complexes is retarded. Not to mention he is piling up the most absurd ideas I've ever heard of, of course he is unable to cooperate with anyone but he wants to change the world to fit his ideals. How immature. Long time ago, when I was climbing up on the hierarchy and I had similar plans the life gave me an ugly smack in the guts to I cooled my raging hormones. I wish he would be free of the same troubles, but if he is fighting so passionately for his world of ideals, for his own truth and he cannot look over them to see more of the world actually surrounding him, there is no reason in persuading him.

My being there would be pointless. The issues of my country are over; we solved the conflicts and the trading difficulties already. I could just waste my time and energies and yes, in my _age_ and _condition_ , I can’t afford these dead-ends.

As I'm turning back to the bed with a couple of trousers in my arms, the last night pops in my mind. The thought, the feeling of being close to him after around three hundred years sinks into my heart and instead of giving me comfort, it makes a terribly bitter twist. From now on, if I would let myself have emotions like this, I couldn't be sated enough no matter how many nights would be spent the same way. But I'm not a child or a teenager anymore. Those dreams and hopes must be buried deep and forgotten in order to get back into my usual shape.

The action I'm planning to do is pathetic and proved my cowardice I know it well, but I can’t come up with any other alternate options just to have temporary peace for my soul. I should have gone yesterday, probably sooner and not letting myself sink into these embarrassing situations. The luggage is done. I can take my departure.

Sentiments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional information: Elcano was the last ship of Sir Francis Drake, who a pirate was serving the Queen of England. At the last days of the Spanish-British war on the turn of the 17thC, Drake came back from a war with that ship, and he brought some of the Spanish Armada's ships as well.
> 
> Comments and reviews and welcomed and appreciated!


	5. Blue Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur escapes.

**Chapter 6: Blue Forest**

The so –called "mobile phone" rang around five times on the right seat of my car. All of us got one of them, this was a prototype of America's new inventions and Alfred wanted us to try them first, as for testing and also for the sake of easier communication. The aim of this rather heavy, big black device was to establish connection with another nation and to tell the truth, I didn't have any intention of answering any of these calls so the phone was just lying beside me like a forsaken stone, crying for my attention from time to time. I liked the ringing noise that it made sometimes when someone was trying to reach me through this brick-shaped box. It made them seem a bit desperate, needy which also

The place I'm travelling to is the last sanctuary which I could name as my own estate and preserve it as it was long time ago. After a gentle push Her Majesty gave me the permission to order complete renovation and She granted me absolute freedom to reside in it from time to time, whenever I wished. My shelter, my unknown sanctuary was one of the last villas which were built from the money we gained from the East-Indian Corporation. Maintaining it was definitely a good idea; my own little place hidden on the borderline of Wales but not all the way North. It was the best option if I truly intended to disappear.

The black box rings for the sixth time. Humming, I just acknowledge the phenomenon; this many calls won't break the record when I was late from a governmental meeting in New Zealand, because the urge of possession of a certain blonde cyclone took over my refined self-control. If I have started something I prefer finishing it properly rather than interrupting it for such characterless events, Kaelin just showed me the improvements of the island she lived in, and appreciating her efforts I had the honour of discovering her lovely house in a more profound way. Forever staying in my mute prayers, I hope Australia’s little brother will never know about this accident.

Besides, I suppose this tiny little incident of me is rather unremarkable, over the past few decades I was way more resigned than I used to be. Currently heading to North-West, I turn my way towards the Welsh mountains. I have always had fondness for the forests and mountains even though the only place I could feel my freedom unleashed was the ocean. Of course nowadays with the current technologies and Alfred’s tracking team, these could not even appear on my escape list. Too many of the nations are controlling the waters nowadays... like the loggerheaded American.

Why does he want to negotiate Ivan? For the God's sake, he should have learnt the lessons by now, wasn’t the Cuban crisis enough?

Immature, ungrateful, self-centred, stuck-up, annoying pigeon-egg. Just the thought of him makes my grip tighten on the steering wheel.

The worst from his kind, with his pathetic, repulsing laughter as well. Don't even remind me that I raised him. It might turn out in the end that Peter is in advantage because I rarely visit him however he started teasing me recently as well. Ridiculous, perhaps I should not even care about these lads.

And they are asking, why am I so tired of their companies? After bringing up someone like Alfred, I would like to see them try being optimistic about the future of our world. Seems like I should retire from politics and ask Her Majesty to assign someone else for my duties. But after all these years? More than millennia? No one knows this wine-drinking pervert retard better than me or how to soften Cuba into selling cheaper rum to me. So troublesome estates and connections all over the world, I doubt to have the patience to educate someone to take my position even.

Slowly I will be a nerve-patient beside these jerks, no wonder. For the split of the second the list of my most peaceful asylums run through my mind. After all those times I’ve been told to be an old fart it wouldn’t be surprising to retire. Tempting.

I wonder how China keeps his stamina so well. Maybe he’s constantly high on green tea.

...

I don't want to see Alfred. I don't want to hear his voice; I don't even want to think about the fact how neglecting he is about my presence. For him, this all would be simply pathetic and pointless, including the time he was by my side. For him I'm nothing more than just a person to trade with, we don't have conflicts anymore, we fought together but that'd be all. He doesn't even think that he is among whose every single step I follow, and I often find myself worrying about his careless actions. By choice I would like to stand beside him when he makes decisions, when he is writing reports, when he reads reports, when he changes his mind... just to be there. I wouldn’t interfere only if needed.

I would like to be there when he is sleeping, when he is eating, to make sure he was content. The sentiment weakens my focus and with a hesitant shake of my head I try concentrating on the road again. The ringtone erupting from the mobile phone helps with its distracting noise.

Even though, the subject of this feeling still remains to be a mystery for my own self, perhaps I shouldn't even think about it, just get rid of it. It would be much easier without it.

It rings for the ninth time. Don't be ridiculous, you can't miss me that much.

Pulling in the Ford's bumper, I stop the engine and mindlessly pull on the handbrake. With a relieved and exhausted sigh I let myself sink in the relief of my own arrival as I'm leaning into my seat and behind closed eyes, I listen to the silence, to the forest surrounding my existence. The environment slowly reaches and penetrates my perception, leaving me alone in peace to enjoy it for its own sake. Trees are bending over the small car, their branches let the sunshine though in small spots, creating some kind of a semidarkness around the vehicle while I'm relaxing with the feeling of stillness I lost long ago, letting it fill my mind once again, replacing the anxiety about tomorrow.

I arrived home.

The door of the car clicks as I open it and step out on the pure green grass and while looking around I notice a small curl of a weak smile on my own lips, I can't hold it back. Trees, bushes, ferns, hazy, thick air, the earthy smell of moss, noises and songs of small birds from the scrub and over all of these, the silence. Turning towards the small villa I feel such an enormous amount of relief like I let the heavy bricks of burdens off my shoulders with a single moan. This place is so precious for my heart, I lack the vocabulary to describe.

I can gaze the path in the thicket from the terrace till I fall asleep, or just stare up on the pure sky for hours. When it rains the vapour floats above the grass and the bugs buzz lively in it when the raindrops ceased falling. The old trees all around, providing shelters and protection for all those tiny creatures, it truly recalled the piece of heaven found on Earth while sitting beneath their shadows in the heat of summer.

Smooth, undisturbed peace goes through this small house as well as it stretches through the clearing lazily, with a hint of calling from inside to find calmness. Though its sizes were almost like a slightly bigger family house’s, the construction of the second floor reminded me of an old-fashioned, moss-covered mansion, since it's overhanging windows were almost lost in the branches of ivy in which I knew, lots of bird nests were to be found. Half of the villa was covered in ivy already and I didn't have any intention of freeing it from the plant. The pure white wall of the first floor shines in the dim evening light just the way I remembered it and from the side of the entrance I see the veranda (which was covered with dozens of stork’s bill pots, my choice), behind it the smaller wooden-framed windows let warm sunshine in the rooms through the entire summer, thanks to the good position of the villa. Snorting quietly and biting into my lower lip my eyes find the rocking chair right beside the door of the entrance. No, I can't let my memories weaken me every single time.

The small house almost reaches for me to approach faster as I take the luggage out and begin walking towards the veranda; thousand streams of emotions are crawling in my soul. A place in the world, fully to be mine, giving peace, helping to relax, to ease the burdens off. This villa veils the world from me, embraces, defends from everything since it's so far away from any bigger towns, it takes one and a half day on horseback.

And this distance is I need the most.

The clicking sound of the door closing must have been what called the housekeeper's attention as she opens the snow-white front door, and her face becomes pale in the second of her astonishment.

"Sir, please don't carry those!" She hurries down from the veranda to take one of my packs, holding her long chestnut brown skirt up on the other side. "I do apologize, we didn't know about your arrival, otherwise we would have been already out here to help!"

"You don't have to worry about this. I decided about coming here this morning. I’m sorry for not letting you know in time."

"Where are you coming from, if I may ask, sir?" – Walking beside me, we reach the hall together. In the sudden darkness I barely see the shapes of objects for a couple of seconds but none of my memories betray me as I reach out for the coat-stand on the right side, just a couple of steps away from the door.

"London. By car I could arrive relatively early," hanging my coat on the stand I hear Mary's moves as she pulls my suitcase beside the stairs and after I turn to her she immediately draws herself up, and places her dark-brown braided hair on her shoulder. She’s always been the proper one in the household.

"Can I offer you something to drink, or to eat, my Lord? I suppose you might want to relax after the drive."

"A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you. Blackcurrant with a hint of honey, certainly."

"Let me take care of your belongings. The newspapers are inside, on the desk, I’ll bring the tea right away, “she smiles and motions for me to take the way on the left side which leads into the living room, but as a regular visitor I already know my way, so enter without her and sit down in the armchair. This place hasn't changed at all. The day-room is rather spacious, perhaps the largest in the whole building. Its windows open towards the deep forest yet preserves enough space for the light to have enough for the plants and for reading. The walls are supported by tall shelves reaching the ceiling, completely full of books; anthologies, novels, encyclopaedias, while the small spaces between the racks are decorated with pictures in frames. I quickly tear my eyes off them.

The wall-paper is light-green, with diminutive arabesque embellishment, I remember choosing this pattern with India on my side. He always had great talents in interior design and I was more than glad to have him help. The fireplace is located on the right side of the room close to the neat, mahogany coffee table in front of it, covered by my embroidered tablecloth and a couple of newspapers on top. Two armchairs can be found beside this table, fronting the fireplace and the double-sized sofa a couple of feet away from them, for a second it crosses my mind that this second armchair lacks function since there’ll be no guests in the future to accompany me here, then I’m reminded by the sound of porcelain coming from the kitchen that after all, I’ll never be left alone, not even in here. As for finishing the inner sight-seeing tour in my own villa, for the sentiment I truly am, I remain sitting in the armchair on the left side, just picking one of the papers of Birmingham to read. A couple of minutes later, turning over the pages of the journal, Mary patters in the room in her small black shoes while holding silver tray in her hands which she puts down on the table with ease. Caring as always, she has always been an excellent housekeeper as the present situation demonstrates it, the house is neat, clean and always ready to receive guests and this was the fruit of Mary's zealous work so far. However, when I brought her here from Scotland she was just a small girl without manners.

"I'll be staying here for a while," informing her impartially, I let the newspaper down on my knees to look up on her. "I'd like peace. Quietness."

"I see, sir," she nods, but if I'm not mistaken she still doesn't understand fully what I mean exactly. With a soft sigh I lift my hand up to caress my jaw and my cheek and my eyebrow twitches at the realization that tomorrow morning I’ll have to shave.

"I'll explain it later. Where are the others? This is something everyone should be certain about."

As a matter of fact, the villa had three servants to keep it in a good condition. Mary, Dave and Elias, however Elias spent most of his time in the garden and in the forest, caring about the residence. Dave was the temporarily signed person as a man-of-all-work, who got accepted for the job after the last war we had. Despite the fact that he is from Wales, he is proficient for all sorts of problems that can occur around the house. He brought the suitcase up on the stairs and took it into the room I had slept before as well. Upstairs, the villa had four smaller rooms, as this was designed when I... thought about myself as... consisting of two.

So basically, the upper floor had two bedrooms, one bathroom and an office room which still had a lot of blankets inside. During my last visit a few years ago I had to take deep breath and I attempted to lock the door with the master-key, but being followed by Dave's uncomprehending stare, I refused to do so. Even if I’m their landlord and master and thus have no obligation to explain my deeds, the mere thought of being seen in such a vulnerable state gripped my dignity.

The two bedrooms are furnished in the same way, since the plan was...

Both of them have single-sized beds, small pelt carpets in the middle and under the window right beside the bed, one desk. In Alfred's room, his bed was standing at the wall next to the chimney coming up from the fireplace, this way keeping him from the cold in the night. My room seemed to be quite empty compared to his, he had a shelf of blankets at the end of his bed, not to mention the row of pillows placed at the wall, on the inner side of the bed. I was just looking at this view, wondering about the furniture left in the dim shine, the chair with the pillow, the small booklet he left on the desk... the thick layer of dust.

"Sir." Dave's deep voice called back to the reality as he was looking at me apprehensively from about five feet far from me, I can still remember seeing the pure anxiousness in his eyes. If somebody, then he knows it perfectly how I am at times, when my memories find me and as always he tries to help me out of these moments. "If you wish, I can put everything in there and lock it up."

To lock... this word echoes in my empty mind like a gloomy, deep bell's ringing in the clear cathedral. To lock. Could this help? Whether I wouldn't see, I would know what is inside but if I would meet the objects all the time... but... to lock everything which belongs to him... which is... his...?

"Sir..." Whispered the men again as he heard my troubled, cumbrous sigh. I was just letting the air out of my lungs, but even this simple act was filled with tremendous burdens.

"All shall stay on their places." Answering him finally, I took a few hesitant steps away from the door, letting it's doorknob out of my fingers only to look up on my servant. I could not hide anything from him, how the simple view of the room broke me down, how much it shook my soul that was already in pieces. My eyes didn't show any particular attention towards the outside world, like I would sense the voices, the pictures through a dirty opaque glass, however wherever I looked at, I just got stabs into my trembling ribcage.

Dave's existence is even gloomier, fading in my mind as I walk in my room without telling anything, just to look around. The memories lose their ferocity with the time easing their effects... and still, this defies the laws of emotions regarding time. After a couple of minutes the trembling decreases inside, as I keep my eyes on the forest through the window, wondering about the piercing grasp in my chest.

"If you need something, just say." Says the man from the corridor, and leaves me there. Yes.. Later.. but...

"Wait, I want to talk with all of you!" Stepping after him, a small, momentary ache shoots into me as I see Alfred's drawing on the wall, stuck with a push-pin. I manage to pass by to follow Dave down the stairs where Mary awaits us, having her fingers entwined in front of her then as she hears my voice, she walks out to the veranda to call Elias. A few moments pass in silence as I sit down in the armchair I sat before to wait for all of them to appear so all of them would sit down on the sofa. Elias' dark figure hasn't changed at all, he still looks like someone who spent all of his time in the forest without proper civilized manners, however I'm convinced about his intelligence, since he had suggested me a couple of poets to read before.

Now, it's time to explain everything for them but I fulfil my own wish first, and drink the remaining amount of tea from the cup.

"Well. The situation is that I've decided to come here this morning. I'm in need of relaxation, silence and peace and by these I mean I wish to spend my time completely alone. Alone." Repeating it again, I would like to make it perfectly clear for them. "If in case of necessity, I won't hesitate to call you. About the meals, I'll appear in time, but it is all the same to me what you put on the table. All the same. The most important comes now. On the arriving calls on the phone from outside, your answer shall be in all kinds of cases, that you haven't heard of me for half a year, and I haven't informed you about my arrival. Everyone who might call me, must get this answer, the natural exceptions are Her Majesty and the Prime Minister. Did you understand? Did I make it clear for everyone?"

Pale, astonished looks on their faces, but out of sheer loyalty all the three are nodding obediently, so I let out a relieved sigh, "I have no intention of going away, and I don't know what time will I take my departure. Probably two weeks, maybe more. Till then I hope to find peace again and be able to continue from where I halted before."

"Yes, sir," Dave nods again in agreement and clasps his hands, Elias follows him in gestures but I can see in his dark-brown eyes that he knows it perfectly, I won't make it through this easily. The deep chestnut gaze always saw right through me.

"Sir, how could we help you?"

"In this, you can't." My smile is weak and bitter, as my eyesight falls on the flowery figures on the carpet, "I'm sorry."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please tell me your impressions and comments! How did you like this chapter?


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